Page 119 of The Girl You Left Behind
“Yes, I sort of did, too.”
He studies her for a minute. “My dad put on perfume the last time he saw you.”
“Aftershave,” says Paul, and stoops to kiss him. “Tattletale.”
So this is mini Paul,she thinks, and the idea is pleasing.
“This is Liv. Liv, this is Jake.”
She lifts a hand. “I don’t know many people your age, so I’ll probably say horribly uncool things, but it’s very good to meet you.”
“That’s okay. I’m used to it.”
Greg appears and hands her a glass of red wine. His eyes dart between them. “So, what does this mean? Is there anentente cordialebetween our warring factions? Are you two now... secret collaborators?”
Liv blinks at his choice of words. She turns to look at Paul.
“I don’t care about the job,” he had said quietly, his hand closing around hers. “I only know that when I’m not with you I’m mean and mad at everything.”
“No,” she says, and she finds she’s grinning. “He just realized he was on the wrong side all along.”
•••
When Andy, Greg’s boyfriend, arrives at Elwin Street, there are five of them squashed into the little house, but it never feels crowded. Liv, seated around a small tower of pizza slices, thinks of the cold Glass House on top of the warehouse, and it seems suddenly so linked to the court case, to her own unhappiness, that she does not want to go home.
She does not want to look at Sophie’s face, knowing what is about to happen. She sits in the midst of these near strangers, playing games or laughing at their family jokes, and relishes this odd sense of being at ease.
And there is Paul. Paul, who looks physically battered by the day’s events, as if he, not her, has lost everything. Whenever he turns to look at her something realigns itself, as if her body has to attune itself to the possibility of being happy again.
You okay?his look asks.
Yes, hers says, and she means it.
“So what happens on Monday?” Greg says, as they sit around the table. He has been showing them swatches of fabric for a new color scheme in the bar. The table is strewn with crumbs and half-empty glasses of wine. “You have to hand over the painting? Are you definitely going to lose?”
Liv looks at Paul. “I guess so,” she says. “I just have to get my head around the idea of... letting her go.” An unexpected lump rises to her throat, and she smiles, willing it to go away.
Greg reaches out a hand to her. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.”
She shrugs. “I’m fine. Really. She’s not mine anymore. I should have understood that ages ago. I suppose I... didn’t want to see what was in front of my face.”
“At least you still have your house,” Greg says. “Paul told me it’s amazing.” He catches Paul’s warning glance. “What? She’s not meant to know you’ve been talking about her? What are we? Fifth graders?”
Paul looks briefly sheepish.
“Ah,” she says. “Not really. No, I don’t.”
“What?”
“It’s under offer. I have to sell it to meet the legal fees.”
“You’ll have enough over to buy somewhere else, right?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“But that house—”
“—was already mortgaged to the hilt. And needs work, apparently. I haven’t done anything to it since David died. Apparently amazing imported glass with thermic qualities doesn’t last forever, even though David thought it would.”
